Written In The Dust: Book One
by Lux Hart
Summary: Daryl was always willing to follow in his brother's footsteps. It didn't matter if it was hunting, surviving, or roaming Georgia in search of something - anything - more than what they had. The apocalypse doesn't change that. Not at first. Pre-series, TV 'verse. Book one of three.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic contains non-graphic descriptions of caniconally discussed physical, verbal, and emotional child abuse.**

* * *

><p><span>prologue.<span>

The sun was sinking low over the horizon. Soon it would be dark out, and they had only begun stepping into the woods. Daryl shifted the crossbow on his shoulder, too heavy, but Merle insisted he'd carried the same weapon even before he turned Daryl's age.

"You gotta learn to look after yourself, little brother," he'd said. "Catch, hunt, defend."

When he'd said 'defend' the word came out with a faraway look Daryl couldn't decipher, but it still sent a shiver up and down his spine.

"It's dark," Daryl did point out. Obvious and stupid, but maybe Merle hadn't thought this through.

"Not for a while yet," Merle said. He briefly turned to look at Daryl, a few paces behind, over his shoulder. "And you gotta learn how to do this in the dark. That's when it's most important."

That made sense to Daryl. He kept walking, readjusting that damn crossbow every few paces as it became lead weight on his shoulder. Merle had two guns slung carelessly over his shoulder and hadn't slowed down one bit.

"Where are we going?" Daryl asked, trying hard to keep the breathlessness from his voice.

"Anywhere you can find something."

_Damn._ "And what if I can't?" He already knew the answer before it came.

"Then we keep going."

Deeper and deeper into the woods, until even if the sun _had_ already sunk into the ground, the coating of trees made it too hard to tell. Only a few faint streaks of red-yellow light shone through.

"Daryl."

Daryl whipped his head back down to look at Merle. Merle nodded and Daryl's eyes followed the direction to where a deer stood, ears pricked and on high alert.

He yanked his crossbow into position, loaded a bolt, and fired. It missed of course.

"Daryl, you stupid shit!" Merle yelled as the deer bounded further into the woods. "You don't even know how to aim proper yet."

"Then what about all those lessons, huh?" Daryl threw the crossbow to the ground. He was sick of it, anyway. Always digging into his arm, his shoulder, his back.

Merle walked over to him and starred down, looking about ten times taller and a hundred times angrier.

"How do you think I afford that?" Merle said. He picked up the crossbow and sat it on his shoulder. It didn't look like it weighed anything. "And those lessons? Basic Crossbow 101, brother, _and you didn't follow any of it!_"

"I'm going back," Daryl said. He didn't have to stay here and listen to this shit. He was still good with a gun, hit the target every time, and how was a crossbow more versatile anyway? Waste of time.

Merle's hand gripped around his shirt sleeve and held him steady. "No you ain't. Do you think I'd waste my time dragging your ass out here if this wasn't for your own good?" He shoved the crossbow back into Daryl's arms. "Now try something easier."

It was fruitless to try and get away. Merle was faster, better. And he was right - he wouldn't bring Daryl out here if there wasn't a good reason. Daryl suppressed a sigh.

"Okay," Daryl finally said. "Like what?"

The smile that split over Merle's face made up for the stupidity of this whole ordeal. Merle wordlessly lifted his rifle into position and pointed it toward a tree.

"What do you see?" Merle asked.

It was too dark to see anything apart from the outlines of plants and trees, but Daryl kept watching. Bore his eyes right into that tree until he saw something shift on the bark.

"Yeah?" Merle asked. His voice stayed quiet, lifted only by the soft breeze around them.

"Yeah," Daryl said. As his eyes adjusted further, he could see that it was fluffy and grey. "Squirrel."

Merle lowered his gun an inch and shrugged his shoulder toward the tree and the squirrel. "Well, go on."

"What good's killing a squirrel?" Daryl asked. "One's hardly enough and it's too dark to find more-"

"Shoot it," Merle cut off. "We're not eating 'em. You're learning to shoot 'em."

The squirrel hadn't moved from it's position on the tree. Daryl wanted it to. He waited for a gust of wind to burst through the woods and send everything running. But that didn't happen.

"You've watched me shoot before," Merle said. His voice was still quiet, reassuring. That was odd enough that Daryl couldn't think of anything to say back. "Same thing here."

_And what if he missed?_ Daryl swallowed and lined the crossbow up, one eye squinted and the other directly on the target. He'd kill this and then...and then what? He didn't know. Merle hadn't told him.

"Come on," Merle said. "Learn how to look after yourself. You gotta do that. For me."

Merle was just looking out for him. Like always.

Daryl took a breath and released the bolt. It scored right through the squirrel's body and was met with hollers of praise from Merle.

~/~

chapter one.

Merle was in juvie again.

Daryl wasn't sure the exact reason this time, but it was for either drug dealing or busting the teeth of that guy in town.

Daryl actually hoped it was the latter, because he wasn't prepared for some pissed off bikie to come storming up into the mountains and pick his revenge on Daryl. Daryl had seen the blue and black marks on his brother and Merle could fight; Daryl still hadn't learnt everything, still wasn't entirely prepared.

"Your brother's no good," their dad had said the night following the sentencing. Then, almost as an afterthought, added, "And neither are you."

It didn't hurt Daryl nearly as much as he thought it should, and life went on more or less the same despite the gaping hole that should have been filled with Merle and was still healing from the loss of their mom.

When their dad turned harder to booze, Daryl took to stealing ones and twos from the pockets of his discarded jeans and figuring out his own way to survive.

It wasn't like Merle had gone completely; his voice was still in the back of Daryl's mind, reminding him how long food would last in the fridge before spoiling and how to fix the septic tank when it decided to bust itself again. Most of all Merle was there telling him he'd be out soon, so don't worry, don't fret, and - above all else - don't leave.

::

"Hey baby brother."

Daryl cradled the phone closer against his ear and didn't even try to stop the smile that pulled hard on both sides of his mouth. "Merle."

"You sound so surprised," Merle said. "You thought I'd get killed?"

"No," Daryl said. Too quick. Rationally he knew Merle could look after himself, but he also knew Merle was a big talker who'd sooner cuss you out than sit by meek.

"It ain't my first rodeo," Merle said. "You coming down to see me this weekend?"

"Dad..." he trailed off. Merle could fill in the gaps. Since Dad hadn't been up the _first_ time Merle was locked in the slammer, Daryl didn't know why his brother thought it would be different this time around.

"I asked if you were coming to see me."

Daryl snorted. "You think they're gonna let some kid in?"

"Prison's for keeping people locked in, not out," Merle said. "Tell 'em your parents sent you to be scared stiff outta getting involved with the wrong crowd."

Daryl could practically _hear_ the air quotation marks around 'wrong crowd'. He and Merle _were_ the people parents tried to keep their own kids from interacting with.

"I'll try," Daryl said. He took a moment and closed his eyes before adding, "But I'm not bringing you any drugs."

"Did I ask for you to?" Merle snapped. "Can't I just wanna see my brother?"

_I don't know._ "Yeah," Daryl said. "Sorry. I'll try and get there, okay?"

"Good." It was a false happiness Merle was putting on. Daryl knew that, but he'd take it. "You really think I don't miss being there?"

"No," Daryl said. "I mean yeah - I'm sure you miss being here."

"Three more weeks." That time it was real positivity. The counting down of the days. "And we'll finish up your training, okay?"

"Okay."

Just then the screen door slammed shut and Daryl jumped with it. The phone clenched tighter in his hand and Merle was saying something but it sounded far away.

"I gotta go," Daryl said, or at least thought he said. The words didn't really leave his throat or reach his ears.

Merle's voice still came through. It sounded concerned for the first time maybe ever. "Daryl?"

Daryl pressed the phone back into it's holder and stood up, walking further down the hall to where his dad was still tugging off his boots.

"You know what your no-good brother cost me?" his dad asked. He didn't wait for an answer; Daryl doubted he was even expecting one. "Doing fucking drugs all up and down Ashville. Got people riding my ass 'cause you and him can't control your fucking selves."

Daryl didn't think it would help any to remind his dad about the bags of white and pink pills stashed in the main bedroom, replaced even after the whole house went up in flames.

"Daryl!" his dad yelled. "You minding me?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "You want me to get you money?"

The second boot was yanked from his foot and he stood up, walking over to where Daryl had stayed fast against the wall. He was almost taller than Merle, but not quite. The physical differences were appearing more and more each day, and Daryl was sure that, when Merle returned, he'd tower over his father. For both of them.

"And how do you expect to make anything?" his dad asked.

"Hunting," Daryl offered.

"Hunting?" His dad's face screwed up and came down even closer. Daryl could see every line, wrinkle, and blocked pore. "You don't know nothing about hunting."

"Sure I do, Merle-"

A hand came out and slammed against the side of Daryl's face, knocking his head into the wall. He bit down on his to tongue, tasting blood, as his head began to feel heavy and ring.

"You don't know nothing about hunting," his dad repeated, and this time Daryl just nodded.

::

Daryl stared hard at the fist-sized hole in the door of his room. There was an almost identical one in Merle's.

_"You gotta learn to look after yourself, little brother."_

That was enough to make up his mind.

::

It was colder out in the woods than Daryl had expected for late March. The denim jacket he had on was too small and tattered, second hand from when Merle got it and almost a decade older now. But the shoulders were still thick enough to take the brunt of the crossbow and stop it from digging into his skin. He'd decided to give hunting another go. A few other goes, actually - in the weeks since Merle had been gone, Daryl had made it habit to come out into the woods, just walking and trying to figure things out while he ignored the ache of angry red welts on his back.

This time he'd decided that he would find something - a deer, a squirrel, even a mouse - track it down, and be back in time to catch a ride in order to see Merle that weekend. At least he'd be better able to hunt by the time Merle came home - and he could make a little extra money on the side, help out a bit. Get their dad off their backs.

He steadied himself against a particularly jagged area of rocks and looked out over it. Down below was the rushing of a river and, further east, it offset and began to pool into a lake. He and Merle had camped out there before, on one of the first times he let Daryl actually try shooting with a gun. Eventually they'd just given up and gone fishing, catching nothing but snags and junk. Still, it was better than the alternative had ever been.

Daryl made his way carefully down toward the bank. There were deer prints embedded into the still-moist dirt, but he saw nothing as he shielded his eyes against the still-glaring sun. At least he had more sense than Merle when picking a time to come out here.

The river curved sharply and Daryl went along with it. The tracks came closer together until there had to be a group or four or five, depending on what way he looked at the trodden-over prints. They went up again, into the thickets of trees. Daryl followed. Maybe he'd find enough meat for the next few months.

::

He was further into the woods than he expected, judging by lessening sound of the river and darkening of the sky. He'd lost the deer prints a while back, and was now scouring the trees for signs of further life. At least until the toe of his boot caught on the edge of a sharp fall. There was that stomach-dropping, heart-lurching moment and then Daryl was facing dirt._  
><em>


	2. Chapter 2

chapter two.

_Tasting _it as well.

When he stood up, the world started spinning.

"Fuck," Daryl muttered and reached out to steady himself on a nearby tree. He blinked hard once, twice, until the trees came back into view and the sound of birds replaced the ringing in his ears. Breathing hard, the final wave of nausea faded and he spat out granules of dirt stuck on his tongue.

Where the hell had he ended up?

Daryl turned around but every direction showed an identical mass of trees. There wasn't even the faintest sound of running water in the distance to at least tell him how to get back on track. The rises of mountains were above him but, like the trees, they weren't a checkpoint. They were always there. Always surrounding.

On top of everything, Daryl couldn't see the damn crossbow anywhere.

When Daryl tried to take a step, a sharp pain shot up through his ankle and he stumbled back into the tree. Lifting his pant leg, he saw there was no blood at least. He'd worse injuries than that - it didn't even come _close _to the broke-in-three-places collarbone from last year. Daryl placed his foot back down gingerly and slowly placed more and more pressure on it until he could take a proper step. It still hurt enough to make his teeth grind together and he couldn't walk without a limp, but he'd make do.

Not that he knew what he was making do _of_. Still, Daryl knew it was more worthwhile to go in search of the river again and follow it back home. So that's precisely what he set off to do.

::

He couldn't find the river.

::

It was much colder at night. Daryl attempted sleep pressed up against one of the huge pine trees and managed it some - a few hours, maybe, but they felt more like seconds and he would jerk awake with any sound. They were really no different from what he could hear nightly from his bedroom window, but out here everything was that much more _alive _and could actually touch him without the flimsy protection of a window screen.

But nothing did get him. Daryl didn't even see a sign of life beyond the trees and plants and grasses. It was just him out in the big, wide wilderness and he had no idea how to change that.

Daryl tried to sleep again.

::

There were flames everywhere.

Licking against the sides of the house and racing across the grass surrounding it. Kids - friends - around Daryl were speeding off on their new bikes while Daryl couldn't move. Couldn't will his legs to get away fast enough or far enough.

_Merle. Mom. Dad._

Those were the order of the words that went through his mind. But even taking a step toward the burning house made his skin feel as though it was burning, scorching him right there in the moment. He could smell and see the wood falling away, the grass growing brown and then black, and he swore he could hear his mother's screams.

Daryl awoke with a start. He dreamt a lot. This was nothing new. He was still in the woods, hearing the growl of a bobcat far off in the distance. Daryl didn't think it would be a direct danger if the stayed still and quiet.

He pressed his back up harder against the tree, closed his eyes, and willed everything away. He willed away the fire, the sounds, the fact he was lost in the middle of the fucking woods with no idea how to get out.

It didn't work.

It never would.

::

The next morning, Daryl decided to try logic. The longest he'd been out in these woods before was a little over a week, a couple of years back when Merle took him camping. And, right now, Merle would tell him to follow instinct. That his stomach grumbling meant food was the most important thing right now.

Daryl also had a vague idea of what _was _edible out here, so at least it was a tangible task to do - and maybe he could find the river again while he was at it. He hadn't gone that far or fallen that much. He had to still be close. Yesterday he just hadn't tried hard enough, that's all it was. On his report card from last semester that was precisely what his teacher said - _doesn't try hard enough. _Daryl would prove her wrong. The ankle was hardly noticeable now; just a constant throb he put in the back of his mind along with everything else that wasn't important right at that moment.

He set off east, following the sun, and it wasn't long before he found a bush of blackberries. There were all right to eat. Daryl remembered that.

"You can have blueberries or blackberries," Merle had told him. "But have anything with milky sap and your stomach will turn itself inside out."

It's a lesson he'd taken to heart and tore off a few dozen berries that at least let his stomach settle enough for Daryl to focus again. The only problem with good focus was that it meant everything in his mind was front and centre again.

Like being lost. Being out in the middle of the woods with only a vague sense of direction thanks to the sun. It had to be near noon, the sun now directly above him. Daryl tried to stick to the trees - heatstroke was the last thing he needed.

_And what if you can't get back? _The voice was from his mind.

_You too much of a pussy to even find your way around in your own backyard? _Or maybe it was more advice-giving Merle ready to start being the asshole Daryl always knew he was deep-down inside.

"I can," Daryl muttered. He was secretly glad there was no-one around to hear him.

He wiped at the beads of sweat rolling down his face and swallowed against the tacky feeling in his throat. The pain in his ankle was back, but Daryl clenched his teeth against it. _Get out of the woods, get home, fix everything up then._ His stomach flipped, but he ignored that too.

At least until it wouldn't let up and he was braced against a tree, retching up what was left in his stomach. So much for Merle's advice. Daryl sucked in cool air and bile rose up in his throat again. He stayed bent over, spitting, until he was sure everything was gone.

He needed water. He needed to get the fuck out of here. He could die in the woods - he knew that. He'd heard news stories about it. People gone missing, found weeks later or not at all. Dead because they didn't know their way around.

_But you _do _know _. That little voice from the back of his mind was back. _You've spent more time out here than you have at home._

Daryl's fingertips gripped harder against the tree. _Yeah _, he thought. Then out loud, because it was important, "Yeah."

He knew this place. Somewhere in his brain there was a map and a path out. He just needed to focus. _Focus _. To stop being a bitch.

It was going to be okay.

::

Daryl was stumbling. He considered it a good sign that he _knew _he was stumbling. If he were further gone he wouldn't be able to recognise it, right?

The trees looked further away until he slammed into them, head aching and hands scratched raw. Everything hurt but in a way that made him feel numb more than anything else. When he coughed flame rose in his throat, then dulled to the same throb in his feet.

But when he tripped over a log there was nothing left in the reserves to pull himself back up.

::

At first he thought the sounds he was hearing were coming from his dreams. His dad's voice breaking through 'cause Daryl knew he couldn't escape, not even all the way out here.

But the sound was too strong - too _alive_ - and it didn't disappear when Daryl opened his eyes. A piercing screech Daryl had never heard come from anyone or anything before.

Daryl scrambled back against the hard wood of the tree, felt scratches tear through his shirt and into his skin. The screech sounded again, echoing through the woods, and Daryl could feel his heartbeat in his ears as he slowly made his way through the brush. Dead leaves and twigs shuffled and snapped under his feet and he was _sure_ whatever that thing was would have to hear it.

But nothing else moved.

Daryl figured he had two choices: Go toward the sound or away from it. There was, he supposed, also the third of staying still - but he was awake now, had to get moving anyway. No way was he going to become some animal's dinner by lying still.

Another screech. Closer this time. He tried to work out what it was. Not a bobcat, and definitely not an owl.

He snapped a bigger stick and cringed, waiting. He was pissed at Merle right now - it was his fault Daryl even bothered coming out here. If he could've just kept his ass out drugs and juvy, Daryl wouldn't be here right now. He wouldn't be about to fight for his life against some fucking monster.

So he guessed he'd made up his mind after all.

From there, it was just a matter of shutting down every non-essential part of his brain and going forward. Hand to hand combat had always been easier for Daryl, but Merle'd had him focus on guns for the last year. Didn't matter. He didn't have any other options to use anyway. He'd live or he'd die. That was the basis of everything, wasn't it?

Step after step, one foot in front of the other. Ignoring the crushing of foliage and the scream of whatever this _thing_ was.

At least until he saw it.

It looked a dog, but Daryl knew it wasn't. It couldn't be with the sharp plates arching across its back and the daggers for teeth that were revealed when it opened its mouth to call that same, echoing screech Daryl had heard the first time.

He knew what it was. He'd heard the legends. _Chupacabra_.

Daryl took off. Pushing back tree leaves and getting whacked in the face with branches. He felt the sting of a cut against his cheek but couldn't even afford to reach up and touch the blood. Behind him the inhuman movements of the Chubacapra were closing in. Dragging closer, closer...

Daryl's foot caught in an upturned root and he felt himself fall before he was actually there. Suspended in animation, a slow-motion fall as his body was twisted and, once again, he was looking at this creature.

And then the sound of bubbling water as his body collided with the ground.

_Bubbling. Water_.

His brain didn't quite get to what that meant as he remained face-to-face with the Chupacabra. It closed in, its sharpened nails reaching out as Daryl tried to find something, anything to defend himself with.

Then, suddenly, it changed.

Daryl couldn't even pin-point where it started. Just that this...thing, went from Chupacabra to Merle Dixon right before Daryl's eyes. All grins and sauntering walk.

"Drink up," it said and pointed to the water behind.

Daryl was always good at following orders.

::

Following the river back home took less than half an hour. Daryl had only been just above it the entire time, dehydrating and starving to death because he was too stupid to think straight on his own.

Merle - the Chupacabra, whatever it was - had disappeared the moment Daryl cupped his hands under the water and swallowed down the icy liquid. Merle's laughter somehow rang through the trees for a little longer, giving Daryl comfort he'd never admit to out loud.

He opened the back door silently, fully expecting Dad to be waiting not too far away. Daryl may have lost count of days out in the woods, but it was long enough.

At least it should have been.

Instead Daryl found himself pulling off boots alone and facing more of that isolation as he walked down the hall and into the kitchen. Dad wasn't hunched over the table, waiting like he used to on nights Merle was supposed to be home with the weekly income, cleaning a gun while one eye stayed on Daryl. Daryl downed a glass of lukewarm water and went into the living room.

That was where he saw Dad. Lounging in his lay-z-boy with the grainy TV screen showing men running back and forth against a grey-green field.

Daryl stood there awkwardly. He knew that trying to sneak up to his room won't last for long; avoiding punishment - being a pussy - was worse to his dad than breaking any rules.

"Daryl," his dad said and turned to him. Daryl cringed, waited. "Grab me another beer."

He does, returning to hold it out to his dad at arm's length. He snapped the tab open with an audible hiss and took a long gulp. Daryl was tense, poised, ready to accept what was needed.

"What're you still doing here?" his dad asked. "Let me watch the game."

Daryl went, numb. Feet more than mind taking him to the kitchen where he pulled out near-stale bread and pb&j spread. He made the sandwich, methodical, and when he bit down that was when it dawned on him:

_He hadn't noticed I was gone_.


	3. Chapter 3

chapter three.

Merle was home again.

"Got out early for good behaviour," he announced as he walked through the door and squeezed Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl knew it was a lie. He'd swiped a pocket calendar from the bank and circled the date of Merle's release in deep red. It was two days prior, actually, but Daryl didn't mention either of those things.

"You miss me?" Merle asked, voice low so their dad couldn't hear from the other room. He hadn't even bothered to say hello.

Daryl shrugged and Merle gave a small smile.

"Best I'll get, huh?" It wasn't a question. "I'm fucking starved. Catch anything good while I was in the slammer?"

"No," Daryl said as he followed Merle into the kitchen.

He hadn't been back out in those woods, not once, since what happened. Merle would chew him out for it of course, but it was still better than the alternative.

"What'd you do, then?" Merle asked. He was leaning over into the fridge, pushing past plates of leftovers and a few plastic cartons.

Daryl sat at the table. "Nothing."

Merle looked over. "Nothing? I thought you said you'd keep up with your training."

"I tried."

"What?" Merle asked as he brought out a Tupperware container and set it on the table. He pulled out a chair and did likewise with himself. "You get an arrow through your foot or something?"

Daryl shook his head, then wished he hadn't. A fake wound would be easier to deal with than to truth. And Merle would ask - of course he would.

"So what then?" Bingo.

"Merle..." Daryl started, then had to stare down at his dirty broken nails before he could continue. "What do you know about Chupacabras?"

"Beasts on the woods - eat livestock. You telling me you never heard stories about them 'round the campfire, little brother?"

He had. That was the point. That was how he had __known __.

"I saw one," Daryl said in a rush. He couldn't push the words back in once they were out and, in a way, he was grateful for it. The image of that Chupacabra had been gnawing at his gut for days, and then the part where it morphed into Merle...no, Daryl had to get it out.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Merle asked.

"Out in the woods." Now the words were coming free and fast, and Daryl couldn't stop them. "While I was out trying to hunt. I got lost then one night it __found __me and-"

Merle slammed the container onto the table and Daryl jumped. He waited for the sound of his dad's voice, but it didn't come. "Haven't you grown outta those fairytales yet?"

This was stupid. Daryl quickly scrambled up from his seat and attempted to leave the room, but Merle was faster. He was at the door before Daryl could shoot through and he grabbed Daryl's wrist. Hard.

"You need to learn how to do these things," Merle said, his voice at a harsh whisper. Daryl didn't miss his eyes flicker to the living room, either. "So go grab the crossbow and meet me outside."

Daryl nodded and did as he was told. He didn't think of Chupacabras again. Not for a long while.

::

Daryl shoved his pillow over his ears. It was like he was back out in the woods, listening to the Chupacabra screeching and the wild animals chitter. Only it was neither of those sounds - or, really, anything loud. It was muffled and slurred, joined only by the occasional thud that made Daryl's heartbeat pick up.

The pillow didn't help. If anything it made things worse because he couldn't__hear __or __know __exactly what was going on.

"Why're you doing back here?" was his dad's voice, drunk enough Daryl was surprised he hadn't passed out yet. "Told you to keep yer no good ass out."

"And I told you to drop dead," said Merle. "I guess we both miss out-"

There was a scuffle. A bump and rattle that Daryl thought might be someone getting pushed against a cupboard. He pulled the pillow down harder and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He shouldn't be like this; shouldn't be such a pussy. But his body felt too heavy to even try moving. His throat was dry and his eyes stung, but he wasn't about to admit to that.

He stayed awake for what felt like hours. Listening to more murmured words and sounds he somehow - __somehow __- managed to mostly block out the content of.

Then, so suddenly, silence. Daryl's eyes flew open and his heartbeat picked up again. He always had nightmares that his brother would, one day, be killed at the hands of their dad. Daryl heard footsteps approaching. They sounded more like his dad's. __God, please __-

"Daryl."

A whisper in the dark Daryl could immediately place as Merle's. He sat up in bed as his door was pushed open and Merle came inside.

"Are you okay?" Daryl asked, just as quiet.

"I'm always fine," Merle said. He shut the door with a soft __click __and walked over to sit next to Daryl on the bed, the old mattress dipping a little more. "You wanna come out to the woods?"

Daryl didn't think to ask him why or consider that it was probably freezing out there. The thought of a Chupacabra doesn't even come to the forefront of his mind. He simply nodded and followed Merle out of his room and down the hall. He also didn't ask where their dad was, but the faint sound that might be snoring filled him in on enough.

"Grab it," Merle said as they reached the front room, his head gesturing up toward the rifle stowed away there. Daryl did so and, after half a second's hesitation, decided to bring the crossbow, too. Might as well learn where he can. He slid into his shoes on the way.

The air __was __freezing as they stepped outside, and there wasn't even much of a breeze; it was just like ice had been thrown out and remained stagnant. Merle was only wearing a tatty grey t-shirt and frayed jeans, but he didn't seem to notice the cold.

"Come on," Merle said, voice at a normal volume now. They both knew their dad wouldn't follow them out here. Not at this time.

They went right into the woods, into the thicket of trees. Daryl didn't even consider the possibility of getting lost this time - he knew Merle could find his way around out here with his eyes closed. It was ingrained in him in a way Daryl could only ever hope for.

It was quiet while they walked. Much quieter than Daryl remembered from his own few nights out here. Merle lit up a cigarette, the flicker of a flame helping guide the way. Daryl remembered when they were kids; when this was a normal weekend for them. It still should be - he still wanted it to be.

"Hey," Merle said and Daryl realised he'd gone ahead. He looked over his shoulder and saw Merle sitting on a fallen log. He tapped the spot next to him and Daryl went over.

Merle picked up a stick and etched something into the dirt. It was too dark for Daryl to make out what it was, but he thought it was the beginnings of the letter __M __.

"I want you to tell me the truth," Merle said. He dropped the stick to the ground. "Did he hurt you while I was gone?"

"No," Daryl said. It was a reflex. He didn't need Merle to worry about him, not when Daryl could see the faint ring of purple already starting on Merle's cheek.

"You gotta be honest with me," Merle said.

Daryl swallowed. "I am."

"All right," Merle said, soft. He smiled and Daryl realised for the first time how much he'd missed it with Merle gone. But, just as quickly as it came, it was gone again. "When are you going back to school?"

"Monday," Daryl said. __If I go back __, he didn't add. He stopped seeing the point of school when he first went into high school.

"I'll take you to Atlanta next weekend if you want."

"Why?"

Merle shrugged. "Get out of the house for a bit?"

So Merle didn't believe him about the beatings. Or maybe...maybe he just wanted to get away. Daryl knew there was a very real chance nothing would happen to him so long as Merle was there to take the brunt force of it. That was always Merle, and Daryl hated himself for letting it happen.

"What was juvie like?" Daryl asked. His question seemed to echo through the trees and, only after returning to his ears, did he get how stupid it was.

"Like Christmas vacation," Merle said. He scoffed, but not in an unkind way. "It's prison, Daryl. You do your time and you get out."

__Are you staying out? __Daryl wanted to ask. __Or are you gonna start up your stash again __? But he didn't ask. He just bit his tongue until he could taste blood and stared out into the forever-dark distance.

"I, uh, was thinking about joining the army," Merle said.

Daryl's stomach dropped liked lead to his feet, the cold air coming back to hit him again. He kept his voice steady. "Yeah?"

"Yup." From the corner of his eye, Daryl saw Merle nod once, solidly. "This guy I met inside was gonna enlist the day he got out."

"Is __that __why you wanna go to Atlanta?" Daryl asked. Of course the motives always went back to Merle - Daryl knew there wouldn't be a recruiting agency in the middle of the fucking mountains.

"That's one the reasons." Merle nudged him with his shoulder. "Can't I also wanna spend some time with my little brother?"

"I guess," Daryl said. He kicked at the dirt in front of him, possibly scruffing up his boots but they'd already lost most of their polish anyway.

"It'll be good," Merle said. Then, almost as an afterthought he added, "For both of us. Promise."

::

They didn't end up going. Of course they didn't. Merle didn't say why and Daryl didn't ask, but walking past Merle's bedroom later that night he peaked inside and saw Merle tugging a bandage around his torso, wincing and hissing out in pain as he finished and tucked the bandage into itself.

Daryl took a step back. The floorboard under his feet squeaked and Merle looked up. His face morphed into something, but Daryl couldn't read it.

"Hey," Merle said. He looked down at the bandages. "'m fine."

That was a lie. They both knew that was a lie.

Daryl's eyes wandered over to the dresser and to the half-dozen bags filled with white substance. "You dealing?"

"Naw," Merle said. __More lies __. "Just my personal stash."

"Right."

"Hand me that bottle." Merle pointed to the lone pharmacy pill container sitting amongst the bags of meth. Coughed to hide the pain, but Daryl still caught the beginnings of a groan.

"Oxycodone," Daryl reads aloud on the label, aided by the faint moonlight floating through the window.

"Yup," Merle said. "Perfectly legal."

Merle took the bottle from Daryl and downed five of the pills dry. Daryl leaned back against the wall and kept his eyes on Merle.

"What?" Merle asked, close to breathless now.

Daryl wanted to ask what their dad had done to make Merle so bad. He wanted to ask when it would stop or - more than anything - if Merle had snuck away and signed up for the army without telling Daryl. Only he couldn't. Instead he turned to the door.

"Night," Daryl said.

Merle nodded. Daryl could see the pain pulling at his face and it hurt him, too. "Night."

::

When Daryl awoke that night, he expected it to be because of more fighting. But it was deathly silence for one, two, three seconds - Daryl counted. Held his breath and counted because sometimes it helped him go back to sleep.

But then he heard the sound of an engine - a motorcycle engine - and Daryl forgot how to both count and breathe. He didn't even notice he was out of bed until there were floorboards against his bare feet and he was running toward the back door.

He saw the light. Red like blood in the distance and Daryl couldn't stop it. Wouldn't have been able to catch up with Merle even if he tried.

Daryl stood out there, in the wind that had been missing those few weeks ago, and his hair fell into his eyes. He swiped it back, stared at the red until he was imagining it.

"Merle, you bastard," he whispered and the words were stolen away. Ditching Daryl and going into Atlanta by himself, of course. Daryl gave a sigh and made his way back inside, hoping his running hadn't made his dad wake up.

When he went into the kitchen, though, a flutter of paper on the table caught his eye. He picked it up and read:

__D,__

__I know you won't believe me, so I won't try to explain. But I needed to get out of here. You'll be fine.__

__-M.__


End file.
